


Rear Window

by LondonGypsy



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Sexy Times, a tiny bit awkward, for now: One Shot, nevertheless..., to be continued?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Benedict is your neighbour?!<br/>Imagine what would happen if you run into him?! </p><p>This is the story of Kalea and Benedict, living door to door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my Muse just came up with this and I just let her.  
> Partially inspired by the Chelsea Flower show where he was talking so lovingly about his balcony, relaxing when at home and living where he lives. 
> 
> Much love to my Betas: the wonderful OzGirlGlinda and my trusty Barawen! *bows head* I'd be utterly lost without you!!! *mwah*

The view is fantastic: all green and yellow and pink. The trees are in full bloom, concealing the façades of the other buildings around the large courtyard and make me feel as if I'm all by myself. 

I take a deep breath and smile: only freshness, clear and green, tinged with the sweet scent of the few flowers along the balustrade. Not like the dry smell of the city, all smog and concrete, causing me to cough every time I left my flat. 

Moving out here, out of the heart of London into the quieter Hampstead,was the best decision I could have made. 

Here I can breathe when I open the window, I have a balcony big enough to put chairs and even a table on, the neighbourhood is quiet and friendly, and it takes only insignificantly longer to work.

Ignoring all the unpacked boxes behind me in the flat I pull a chair close and flop into it, propping my feet on the balustrade, soaking up every bit of the rare British sunshine. 

At the old place I only had a tiny balcony, not even big enough to put a dryer on, let alone chairs or flowerpots. 

Here I have enough space to fulfil my - amateur - gardening dreams. 

Mentally I start planning which plants I want, where to put them and whether or not I need a sunshade. 

Suddenly loud music blares through the air and disturbs the peacefulness of my little refuge. 

Frowning I sit up, looking around for the cause of such terrible noise. 

This is the very first time that I notice that there are actually other people living around me - normally it's so quiet that I worry when I cough too loudly. 

It's a very calm neighbourhood, everyone is very considerate and I have yet to witness the loud shouting and rows I was so used to at my old flat. 

Peering around I realise how quiet it was; it's in the middle of the week, most of my neighbours are still at work. I have taken a week off which is much needed after the stressful move a few weeks ago to straighten things up in peace. 

And in quiet. 

Standing up and leaning over the balustrade I glare around, trying to locate that blasted noise. 

Absently I notice that only the top stories of the houses around have a balcony like mine, the others lack them - probably a space issue. 

And it seems that the dissonant guitar riff I can hear now is coming from the roof terrace right opposite. 

Narrowing my eyes I try to see through the thick branches of the trees. I can make out an open window and thin curtains, fluttering merrily in the gentle breeze. 

I've always thought that flat was unoccupied as I've never seen lights in there; it seemed empty since the day I moved in. 

Holidays perhaps, I ponder absently, all the while glowering at the offending windows and the music still blasting through the otherwise quiet courtyard. 

There goes a peaceful evening on my balcony. 

I've had that far too often at my old place: rude neighbours, loud and obnoxious and dangerously close to getting rough when one asked for a bit more consideration. 

One of the many reasons I moved. 

Sighing I retreat back inside, closing the door behind me, shutting out the gorgeous summer evening. 

I stare blindly at my boxes, feeling anger bubbling up. 

"You don't live there anymore. It can't be worse here than it was there. Go and ask them to turn it down," I say into the room, squaring my shoulders. 

"I'll just go over and ask... be friendly. It's a respectable area, asking is polite and nice, yes." 

Muttering to myself, cheering me on as I always do, I grab an old cardigan, twist my hair into a bun and give myself a once over in the mirror. 

Bit tired around the eyes and my shirt has seen better days but it's presentable enough for a short neighbourly visit, I decide and grab my keys. 

I rush down the stairs to the courtyard which connects the buildings. There I listen again; the music's still on, still loud enough to wake the dead and it's not hard to figure out which house it is. 

Stalking over to the sound of _Daft Punk_ , which makes me shudder in annoyance, I discover that there's only one unlabelled door bell next to the entrance door. 

Snorting I push the button a bit longer than absolutely necessary. Maybe whoever lives here is deaf. 

Nothing happens; I can hear the melodic ring of the bell inside though and try again. Eventually I hear a loud crash, some swearing and then the music abruptly stops. Pressing the doorbell again, just to make sure to be heard, I bite back an evil grin. 

Serves them right. 

I hear quick footsteps and a boomed 'one second' which sounds vaguely familiar. 

But I don't have time to consider before the door flies open, revealing the tall and lean figure of a man, clad in thin shorts, rubbing a towel over his head. 

"If it's because of the music, I'm terribly sorry, I just realised how bloody loud it was. I was in the shower and turned it up a bit to hear it over the water. If I've disturbed you, I'm truly sorry." 

I don't have to see his face to know who I have in front of me but the sight of his handsome face causes a pang of utter shock as he lowers the towel, a pair of bright eyes peering apologetically at me. 

His hair - short now, the riotous curls gone - is tousled from towelling it, and shimmers red in the low lights. 

I stare, shocked to the bone, and yet my brain catalogues that errant curl, as short as it is, bouncing against his forehead, the fine lines around his bloodshot eyes and the deepening frown between his elegant brows. 

Not breathing - and perhaps not even blinking - I keep gaping at him, not able to string even two words together, let alone a full sentence. 

His brows draw even closer together and his normally warm voice sounds cold. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Ginger."  

I immediately slap a hand over my mouth, blushing furiously. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

His body tenses and his previously relaxed demeanour instantly turns rejecting and wary. One hand finds the door handle and only the usual British politeness keeps him from slamming the door in my face. 

His eyes narrow into slits and it's the dying of that lively glint in his gorgeous eyes, that haunted expression on his face that tears me out of my stupor. 

"I am so fucking sorry," I stutter, embarrassment washing over me like an icy wave, "shit... no, I didn't mean to swear, sorry, uhm... gosh. Didn't mean to... well... this..." 

I'm babbling - panicking as is my habit in the face of the unexpected, blurting out the first things that come to mind. 

He retreats further into his flat, the grip on the handle tightens and I know I only have a few more seconds before he has enough and closes the door. Or worse. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, which is surprisingly helpful in my task to concentrate on speaking proper sentences. 

"Sorry. Hi, I'm Kalea, I live in the flat opposite and I only wanted to ask you if you could turn down the music a bit. Which you did. So everything's just fine now." 

It comes out in one long rush and I gasp for air when I'm finished. 

Not daring to open my eyes I wait anxiously. 

And wait. 

And wait. 

Finally I can't take it any longer and blink one lid open, expecting to stand in front of a closed door. 

Instead he's still there, eyeing me with a hesitantly curious expression on his face. He's still wary but since I don't make any more attempts to embarrass him further, he's a tad more at ease. 

My face is burning and I've never wished more for a hole to swallow me right on the spot than in this very moment. 

The silence stretches and becomes more awkward by the second as neither of us says anything. Taking a step back, my mouth acts faster than my brain again. 

"Well, you did, turned it down, I mean, so... thanks and sorry for disturbing you." 

Another step back, the wish to flee to my flat where I want to die of shame growing with every second that passes. 

"Kalea." 

It's soft spoken, quiet in the warm evening and it roots me to the spot as if he yelled it. 

Just one word. 

My name. 

And yet it rings in my ears like thunder, chases a shiver down my spine and as I look down, my hands are trembling. 

I've never thought my name could sound like this: like a caress, like soft silk over naked skin, sensual and delicate. 

Even if I wanted, I couldn't move, I'm barely breathing, I just wait, my heart hammering in my chest so loud he must hear it. 

"Curious name that, Kalea" he muses, drawling the syllables out, making it sound like it's the most amazing name in the world. 

Carefully I glance up at him.

He's leaning against the door frame, the towel draped around his neck, his head tilted, watching me with an amused twitch on those sinful lips. 

He catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow in an unspoken question. 

"Haw...," my throat is dry and I have to swallow a few times, "it's Hawaiian. My Mum is from there." 

He nods as if I confirmed a suspicion.

"Would have guessed that," he says. 

Out of the corner of my eye I can see his gaze flicker briefly over me, the faint hint of appreciation in it. 

I didn't think I could blush even more but I can and suddenly I'm over aware of my ratty outfit and my messy hair. 

Groaning I pull the cardigan closer around me. 

"So not what I imagined," I murmur under my breath. 

His laugh is the most amazing sound, rich and dark, filling the air around him with low echoes, endlessly reverberating in the small doorway. It makes the hair on my neck stand on end and my entire skin is covered in goosebumps. 

"Imagined what exactly?" he asks, the cheekiness clearly audible in his tone now. 

If I had heard only the faintest sign of mockery in his words, I would have left immediately, not caring about who he is. But he sounds genuinely curious and as I slowly turn his open gaze finds mine, waiting for an answer.  

"Meeting you," I mutter quietly, avoiding looking at him, not saying how exactly I've always pictured meeting my favourite actor. 

He smirks, running a hand through his mussed hair. 

"Well, no need to imagine it any longer, is there?!" 

He honest to god winks at me and my heart stops. 

Quirking a shaky smile at him at the utter absurdity of this conversation, I nod. 

"Quite the story indeed." 

I instantly regret it as his face closes up, his eyes getting that cautious glare again. 

"Good Lord, no, not like that," I blurt out, panic surging through my veins, "you have nothing to worry about, you're safe with me." 

It takes several moments - and his sarcastically raised eyebrow -  until my words register in my own brain. 

"Am I now?" he asks lowly, the sound of the words chasing another shiver down my spine.

"Oh God," I groan, biting my tongue, "that's not what I meant. I...uh... I better get going before I have to move again..." 

His answering chuckle is quiet. 

"Have a nice evening then." 

"And you," I reply automatically, slowly walking backwards and promptly bumping into a pillar. 

"Careful there," he grins, straightening up from leaning in the doorway. 

I smile sheepishly at him and turn around, wanting nothing more than to leave the place of my shame as I hear his soft: 

"No need to move by the way..." 

I jerk around, so fast I can hear my neck crack but he's already closed the door. 

Standing there, I look at the wood for another moment before I turn and stumble back towards my flat. 

I don't really know how I made it back up the stairs but apparently I did because I find myself in my sitting room, staring blindly into space. 

My mind is reeling, desperately trying to sort out what just happened.

"Was that just a very weird dream?" I ask the cactus on my table, shaking my head in disbelief. 

"Tea," I then remind myself, trudging into the kitchen and put the kettle on. 

When in doubt, tea always helps. 

While I wait for the water to boil, I search for a clean mug, mechanically adding tea leafs and a bit more sugar than normal. 

My hands are shaking when I pour the water and I have to set down the mug out of fear I'll spill everything and burn myself. 

"Benedict bloody Cumberbatch is my neighbour," I murmur into the silence of my flat, "...holy shit." 

Outside it gets darker: night is falling and from the kitchen window I see how more and more windows light up as their residents return home. 

Carefully I take my mug and wander back onto my balcony. 

It's blissfully quiet now. Only the twittering of a few birds can be heard, and the occasional murmur of conversation, drifting past open windows into the dark. 

I can't help but glance through the branches of the trees over to the one flat that suddenly has become so much more interesting. 

The door to his balcony is still open but the lights are out, I can only see a yellow flicker through the flimsy curtains. 

Candles? 

A series of images form in my brain: him, sitting on the sofa, reading a book or a script even, the warm glow of candlelight casting his angular face in shadows, enhancing those sharp features of his. 

"Geez woman, pull yourself together," I grumble into my mug. 

Suddenly there's movement on the other roof terrace and I squint in order to see better. 

Benedict strolls onto the balcony, still only wearing shorts from what I can see through the leaves of the trees. 

Fascinated I watch as he wanders along the balustrade, doing what looks like watering the lushly blooming window boxes framing the entire terrace. 

I prop my arms on my own railing, getting lost in his effortless elegance and his smooth motions, revelling in the slender lines of his body. 

The mug I'm still holding slips out of my fingers and I watch in horror as it tumbles to the ground, shattering on the concrete three stories down. 

I glance over in panic. Of course he has heard it, and is now peering down into the courtyard. 

Looking up and around, his searching eyes stop on me and even over the distance I think I can see a quick smile on his lips. It's too dark to say for sure but the raised hand in greeting I can see very clearly. 

Motionless I watch as he returns to watering his flowers before he retreats inside, leaving his door open but pulling the curtain over the opening. 

Exhaling I stumble back and fall in my chair, all the while shaking my head at myself. 

"Well done, Kalea, not only did you scare the crap out of the most amazing actor who ever existed, you also managed to make yourself look like a total fool," I mumble into the night. 

I should go to bed to not make things worse. 

Shuffling back inside I spare one last look back and despite everything I smile. 

 *

The next days are too busy to think much about him, only in the evenings when I have a cup of tea on my balcony to end the day, my gaze always wanders over. 

Sometimes I see movement behind the curtains, sometimes he's outside, watering the window boxes or puttering around on the ground, only his messy hair to be seen over the balustrade.

And sometimes I see how he's looking over, waving when he spies me even though I try to hide.

It still makes me blush, the embarrassment from that night still fresh and searing in my blood and I'm happy I didn't run into him yet again. 

Actually, I'm barely leaving the flat, only if I have to do the shopping and only when I'm properly dressed – just in case. There's still too much to do, painting walls, unpacking and arranging everything to make my new home homey.. 

But then comes the day when I have to return to work and I completely forget about my famous neighbour. 

My days are long and exhausting - this time of year is the busiest and when I return home in the evening, I'm too tired for anything else but dinner, a shower and stumbling into bed. 

On the fourth evening back at the job my doorbell rings. Confused I look up from my quickly thrown together meal, frowning in direction of the door. 

Who could that be? I don't really know anyone yet. 

Scrambling to my feet I shuffle towards the door and open it slowly, peeking through the gap. 

"Jesus Fucking Christ." 

"Goodness, you curse even more than Mar...people I know," the deep voice rumbles. 

Staring - it seems to be an occurrence I can't get rid of - my hand slips from the handle and the door swings open. 

Benedict tilts his head, his eyes briefly sliding over my ratty old outfit before they return to my face. His elegant eyebrow raises and he nods towards my hand. 

"Expecting any burglars?" he asks, biting back a grin. 

Confused I look down, just now noticing that I'm still holding the knife from dinner. 

"Oh," is all I can manage in reply, making him chuckle softly. 

"I'm having dinner," I say weakly, the urge to hide growing with every second his intense eyes are on me. 

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't want to disturb you," he says apologetically, "I just wondered if I could borrow a cup of sugar? I'm out of it and the shop's already closed." 

"Uhm, yeah, sure..." I nod automatically, taking a step back and making an inviting gesture, "do you want to... uh, come in?" 

"Thanks," he smiles, wandering inside as if it's the most normal thing in the world. 

Frozen I watch as he enters my flat, looking around curiously before he glances at me. 

I'm still standing by the open door, my knife in hands, my mouth open. 

"You might wanna close that," he suggests dryly, not clarifying whether he means the door or my jaw. 

In a flurry of hectic motions I shut both and hurry back into the sitting room, throwing the knife on the table and storm past him into the kitchen. 

There I stop, glaring around my cupboards, temporarily having forgotten where I keep my spare sugar. Panic surges through me and I faintly notice that I'm close to hyperventilating. 

"Breathe," comes from behind me.

His tone is gentle and oddly understanding and I instinctively do as he says. Closing my eyes I take a few deep breaths and feel how the sharp panic leaves me with every exhale. 

He's silent and yet I'm overly aware of his his nearness, somewhere close behind me, permeating warmth and calmness. 

"Thanks," I whisper, opening my eyes and reach for the right cupboard and pull out the glass with sugar. 

Turning around to hand it over, I find him smiling at me, almost secretive and for a second my heart stops.

"Better?" he asks, still keeping his voice quiet. 

I nod, holding out the sugar. 

He takes it, the tip of his slender fingers grazing over mine and I can't suppress the shudder at the brief touch.

"Sorry," I mutter, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans, "you make me nervous." 

Biting my lips, I take a step back, cursing my damn impulsivity and the inability to think before speaking. 

"Why?" he asks softly, sounding genuinely curious. 

I glimpse up at him, stunned, his gaze locking with mine and I'm unable to break the eye contact.

"Because you're _you_ ," I reply, feeling the flush on my cheeks deepen. 

He looks at me for what feels like ages before he says: 

"No need to, you know. Just a normal bloke here." 

He spreads his arms to illustrate his statement - which is not helpful. 

The motion makes every single muscle under his thin white shirt stand out, ripples the fabric and shows very clearly that he's been working out a lot. The shirt stretches tightly over his arms and his broad chest, hugging his body like a second skin. I can count every muscle on his stomach, and the tendons along his neck, thick against his light skin. 

He must've noticed the hypnotised rabbit stare because he quickly lowers his arms again, and it must be the light in the kitchen that casts a soft pink glow over his cheeks. 

We watch each other wordlessly and then he clears his throat, holding up the glass with sugar. 

"Do you have an actual cup? I forgot to bring one." 

I shake my head, still in a daze. 

"Take it all, I still have some." 

"I'll bring it back." 

It takes a moment for me to realise the implications but when it hits me, it hits hard. 

He will come back. To my flat. Oh. 

My mind's rattling and for once I'm lost for words. All I can do is nod. 

"I better get going before your dinner gets cold," he says.

"It's cold anyway," is my instant reply which makes him laugh. 

"Goodness, why?" 

I look over to my abandoned dinner and shrug. 

"Can't get cold then," I say lamely, flinching at the stupidity of my reply. 

He narrows his eyes and steps closer to the table, eyeing my plate with the indefinable content and barely suppresses a shudder. 

"That's disgusting," he declares, wrinkling his nose.

"It's totally fine," I defend my non existent cooking skills. 

He shakes his head, a smirk lingering on his lips. 

"You need to have proper nutrition. You're a hard working woman, you need..." 

"How do you know that?" I interrupt him, "… that I'm a hard working woman, I mean?" 

He's definitely blushing now, shifting the sugar glass from one hand to the other. 

"Educated guess," he murmurs, studying my floor, "you ... uhm, well, you come home late and you don't have your tea on the balcony anymore..." 

His voice trails off, the words hanging heavily in the air between us, taking a moment to settle in. 

"How... wait, were you... spying on me," I ask, shocked at the possibility that he's actually paying attention to anything that has to do with me. 

He rubs a free hand over the back of his neck, the blush on his face deepening. 

"I might have noticed," he admits, peering up at me from under his fringe falling in his eyes. 

"Oh." 

Silence falls. I don't know what to say and he seems to not want to venture further into it. 

We stand there, glancing at each other awkwardly, seconds becomes minutes and neither of us moves. 

Eventually he shakes himself out of it, quirking a lopsided smile at me and straightens his back. 

"I really got to go. Thanks for the sugar." 

Slowly he starts moving towards the door.  

"Uh, yeah sure, can't have you not have sugar," I say, following him through the short corridor. 

He huffs a laughs as he opens the door and steps out into the hallway. 

"It's been a pleasure, Kalea." 

God, the way he says my name is mesmerizing. His deep baritone gets even deeper, making it sound like something wonderful. 

Pulling myself together and wanting to redeem the utter absurdity of my behaviour, I meet his eyes and smile shakily. 

"And mine...Benedict." 

Saying his name shoots a hot flush through my veins and I look away, not sure whether or not it's appropriate. 

He's silent for a moment, and as I peek up, there's a mysterious expression on his face I can't read.

Catching my gaze with his, he holds it for a moment, just looking at me with those fascinating eyes and it feels as if there's something passing between us, something as old as time itself.

The loud bang of the downstairs door falling close tears us out of it.

Taking a step back, he murmurs a soft “good night”, declining his head in goodbye.

I mirror his movement hazily.

"Good night." 

Looking at me for another moment he then turns, walking down the steps and eventually disappears out of my sight. 

I hear the front door to the courtyard open and close again, imagining him walking past the trees to his own building. 

It takes a while before I'm able to close the door again and walk back into the sitting room. 

My gaze is instantly drawn to the glass doors leading to the balcony. 

Only hesitating briefly I open them and step outside. 

The sky is dark and the air cool, an almost full moon casting a white light over everything. 

Ducking my head, I peak through the branches and am rewarded with lights in Benedict's flat. His balcony door is open and the curtains are drawn back so I can get a look into his sitting room. 

From what I can make out, it has basically the same layout as mine: I can see the edge of a grey sofa and a low coffee-table in front of it. 

Benedict wanders in, carrying something I can't see and sets it on the table before turning towards the balcony. 

Stepping outside, he is only a silhouette against the brightly lit room behind him, a lithe, tall figure, sharply outlined in the doorframe. 

He stands there motionless, the cold hue of the moonlight casting his body in silver shadows; a dark marble statue from my point of view. 

Then he lifts his hand in greeting towards me. I don't know if he can even see me but I mirror his gesture instantly. 

Staying where he is for another moment, I watch him, not even feeling guilty about it. His words from earlier are still ringing in my head: he had been looking for me and noticed when I wasn't there. 

I don't know what that means but it fuels a tiny fire in my stomach, warming me from the inside. 

My bare feet start freezing on the cold tiles and with regret I return back inside, closing the door behind me. 

Through the glass I can see that he's still standing there. Whether or not he's watching me - I don't know but the possibility makes me smile. 

 *

From that day it becomes sort of an odd ritual. Every evening when I come home, I don't make dinner first but a cup of tea and drink it out in the open. 

And he's there, like clockwork.

Sometimes he's puttering around his terrace in old clothes.

Sometime just sitting on a chair, his face turned towards the sun, its warm beams making his hair glow copper.

Other days he's just standing at the balustrade, staring into the blue. 

But always with a a cup of tea, either on a table nearby or in his large hands.

And always greeting me with a wave or a nod when I step outside.

It quickly becomes my favourite time of the day and I'm looking forward to seeing him in the evening. 

But soon the days becomes shorter and colder, its rains often and there are days neither of us feels like getting outdoors. 

And yet, I always stand by the door, trying to make out his shape over the distance of the courtyard - the falling leaves of the trees making it easier to look over now - the only positive thing I can find about the advancing autumn. 

We still rarely run into each other outside our strange little rooftop rendezvous's ; I'm out all day, at work while he seems to be home most of the time, at least in the evenings. 

I have no idea what he's actually doing during the day.  

Often I can see the lights on when I get up in the morning. Either he's getting up early even though he seems to be off work or he's staying up all night.

I have checked the internet of course, but can't find any projects he's signed up for in the future. 

Weekends on the other hand are lonely: he's rarely home then, probably enjoying parties and the infamous London night-life. There are blurry pictures every now and then, from a night out with friends or at a play he went to see. 

Sometimes I consider going out as well, perhaps bumping into him which is silly considering that he's my neighbour. 

It's strange. He's so close, and somehow we seem to have formed some sort of acquaintance, as distant as it is and yet I don't dare to just go over and ring his doorbell. 

"Stop daydreaming," I scold myself in such moments, staring longingly at his windows, "he's just a neighbour, famous yes but nevertheless." 

 *

One cold October evening there's a knock at my door. I'm curled up on the sofa watching an old film and dozing off every few minutes. 

For a second I consider ignoring it but then I remember that I had a note in the mailbox about a parcel, delivered to one of my neighbours which I was too tired to pick up yet. 

Sleepily I get up and stumble to open the door, expecting the lady from downstairs.  

It's a shock to instead see Benedict, a colourful bunch of small flowers in one hand, my sugar glass in the other. 

"Hi," he says sheepishly, holding both items out to me, "I'm such an arse sometimes. I've never returned this to you so I hope the flowers make up for me being a forgetful idiot." 

Over the past few months I've gotten sort of used to him so I don't act like a complete idiot and it takes only mere seconds to regain my composure again. 

Nevertheless I'm stuttering a little when I lamely say: 

"Oh, thank you." 

I take both; the flowers don't look like he bought them, rather like the ones he grows on his balcony. 

"It's not much," he says, guessing my thoughts, nodding towards the bunch in my hand, "they're only small but I grew them myself and thought you'd like them." 

"They're pretty," I reply, inhaling their sweet scent deeply.

"Good." 

He stands there, fiddling with the hem of his grey cardigan, looking a little lost. 

I gather up all my courage and open the door wider. 

"Tea?" I ask, only barely embarrassed at the squeaky sound with which the word comes out. 

Looking up, his multicoloured eyes widen surprised.

"I mean," I add hastily, "only if you'd like. It's totally fine if you don't, I..." 

"I'd love to," he says softly. 

Stepping aside I watch in awe as he quickly shuffles inside, his movement hesitant and almost shy. 

"Have a seat, I'll put the kettle on," I say, waving a slightly trembling hand in direction of the sitting room and flee into the kitchen. 

There my nerves suddenly return and I collapse on a chair, starting to shake rather heavily. 

"Good lord almighty," I whisper into the flowers in my hand. 

I need a few moments to collect myself again, trying to push away the panic clawing in the back of my head and get up. 

Clicking the kettle on, I gather two mugs and then stop. 

I don't even know how he takes his tea. In fact, I know absolutely nothing about the man and yet he's currently sitting in my flat. 

Another curse slips past my lips, less quiet. I can hear his low laughter and blush furiously. 

"Are you okay in there?" comes the curious question, "need any help?" 

Swallowing dryly I nod, completely forgetting he can't see me.

"No...uh, yes... thanks, all good," I croak, trying to sound convincing while I prepare the mugs. 

I take a deep breath to steady myself before I return into the sitting room.

"I don't know how you like your tea... cream, milk, sugar?" 

"Black is fine," he replies a tad absently.  

He's standing at my bookshelf, his elegant fingers sliding over the spines of the many books I have gathered over the years. 

"Quite the collection you have here," he says, smiling at me as I hand him the steaming mug. 

I shrug, running a loving hand over my favourites. 

"I just love to read," I say, forgetting for a moment who I have in front of me, "every single one of these contains its very own world, its unique story. One can get lost in them. So utterly and completely that it's sometimes hard to return back into the real world. 

He nods enthusiastically.

"Yes, I totally agree. There's nothing better than a good book to escape the world sometime. And a great cup of tea, of course." 

Raising his mug, he winks at me and that little motion makes my entire world turn upside down. 

This is really happening. He's here, standing right in front of me, a cup of tea in his large hands.

His hair is unkempt, curling messily around his forehead, shimmering golden in the warm light of my sitting room. Wearing jeans, t-shirt and a grey cardigan on top, he looks utterly normal if it wasn't for his angular face and his hypnotizing eyes which observe me closely as I try to process everything. 

"Just a normal bloke, remember" he murmurs, lifting his mug to take a drink, "...one that's too shy to ask a gorgeous woman out." 

The last is muttered against white porcelain and I almost choke on my tea. 

"What?" I splutter, barely able to not drop my mug. 

He's blushing a deep red, enhancing the brightness of his eyes and once again I find myself dumbstruck at his presence. 

He can't mean me, can he? 

The blood is rushing loudly in my ears, my heart is hammering so loud I'm sure he must hear it. 

Peeking over the rim of his mug his gaze locks with mine and suddenly everything around me stops existing. 

His wide eyes, bright and shimmering dark blue with hints of grey and gold, are watching me so intensely that I forget how to breathe. 

"Can you set that mug down for a second?" he asks after what seems like an eternity, putting his own on the shelf beside him. 

Before I can make any move, he's taken it from my numb fingers and it joins his next to my books. 

"Listen, I don't normally do this kind of thing but..." 

Not ending the sentence his large hands come up and frame my face, his palms cool against my burning skin. His eyes are flickering over my face down to my mouth before capturing my eyes again. There's a question in them but before I can even start to figure it out, he's leaning in, his breath ghosting warm over my lips. 

The tip of his nose brushes against mine, shooting a sharp pang of realisation through my veins and when his lips gently cover mine, a whimper escapes my throat at the sensation.

He sighs quietly, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

Time slows down and then just stops while he kisses me, his mouth slowly moving against mine, mapping the shape of my lips, and when he moans almost inaudibly, my heart stutters. 

Hesitantly I reach out, my hands fluttering over his sides, skittering over his stomach and up his chest. I can feel the ridges of his muscles under my fingertips, can feel them tremble slightly as I splay my palms, wanting to cover as much of them as possible. 

One of his hands slides into my hair, the other falls down and then wraps around my waist, urging me closer. 

His heart is racing, the thundering beat pulses against my hand and I press a bit harder, making him groan against my mouth. 

He parts his lips, his tongue flitting over my lower lip, wordlessly asking for permission which I grant instantly. 

Slipping inside it's my turn to moan as our tongues meet, carefully and hesitant at first but quickly growing bolder, the slick slide of his flesh against mine dizzying. 

He tastes of tea and mint, his lips are warm, his tongue gentle. The quiet choked off groans he makes as he deepens the kiss, pulling me harder against his strong body, are vibrating through mine, setting every nerve on fire and I want to crawl into him, leave no space between us. 

His fingers in my hair move slowly, shooting jolts of pleasure through my veins, the arm around my waist tightens its grip. 

My wandering hands slowly move from his chest to his neck and further up in his hair and I moan deeply as I bury both hands in the lush thickness of those glorious curls. 

I feel weightless, as if floating, and only his lips and his hands keep me grounded, pressed against the strong lines of his sinewy body. 

Suddenly he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, panting hot breath against my damp lips. 

"I can't stop thinking about you," he whispers and I shudder heavily in his arms at those words, "I've been dreaming about you since our very first, very odd, meeting. And yet I was afraid... frightened that... I mean..." 

I lay a finger on his lips, my lids fluttering as I touch wet skin but suddenly everything is crystal clear to me.

"Not a maniac. A fan yes, but not crazy," I murmur into the small space between us, completely understanding his initial fear. 

"A bit awkward in the social area but that's always the case, not only with you. Although..." 

I can't end the sentence because he's kissing me again, harder this time, hungrier and I forget how to think at all. 

When he breaks it again, we're both panting heavily and as he leans back to look at me, his pupils are wide, drowning out every bit of colour. 

He licks his lips and that unconscious movement has my knees tremble. He notices and pulls me impossibly closer, steadying me in a way that's not at all helpful. 

I can feel his arousal, pressing hot and hard against my thigh and I grind gently against it. 

He groans. Low and hoarse, his head lolling about, baring that long pale throat of his to me. 

I'm not thinking when I raise to my tiptoes, grazing my teeth over the harsh outline of the tendons there, barely suppressing the feral urge to mark him just there.

The shudder wrecking his body is intoxicating and the broken moan tumbling past his lips is nothing but pure sin. 

"Stop me," he rumbles, grinding harder against me, "stop me now or I can't guarantee anything..."

Lust is washing over me in hot, heavy waves and I want nothing more than to rip off his shirt and his jeans but there's still some rationality left. 

"Stop," I whisper helplessly, pressing a hand against his chest in an attempt to put some distance between us. 

I didn't actually expect him to do so, he seems too far gone already but I'm wrong. 

He instantly lets go of me and takes a step back. Nevertheless, he's panting, his gaze is clouded, his face glowing with desire and when I glance down I can see the prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. 

We stare at each other, the air between us crackling with tension and I'm sure he can see the same yearning in my face as I can see in his.

He takes a deep breath that seems to centre him a little.  

"I know, it must sound insane but I should get going," he murmurs, running a hand through his wild hair, "before I do something we regret later." 

I'm too dazed to say anything at all. 

His brows furrow and he reaches out, running a fingertip over the side of my face. 

"Going to take it slow, 'kay?" 

Nodding, I suppress the purr that wants to escape as he keeps caressing my cheek. The motion is hypnotizing - for both of us. He doesn't seem to be able to stop and so we're standing there, looking at each other, his face full of longing and yet there's the wish to not rush things, to get to know each other first.

"You wanted to get going," I remind him hoarsely, flicking my tongue at the meandering fingertip brushing over my lips. 

He groans, his eyes have become slits and he's watching his own movements very closely. 

"Yes," he agrees, still outlining every single curve on my face. 

My entire body is tingling, every touch of his skin against mine shoots a cascade of burning need through my veins. 

"Go now or you _must_ stay," I hiss through gritted teeth, my self control rapidly slipping. 

"Bloody hell," he growls roughly, making me bite my lip to prevent the loud groan his words cause. 

He lowers his hand and it is abundantly clear that it takes him a huge amount of effort to do so. Shoving his hands violently into the pockets of his jeans, he nods sharply. 

"I'm going," he declares firmly, taking a step back. 

Wordlessly I increase the space between us, barely able to control the shaking of my limbs. 

"Good night," he rasps, swallowing hard, his gaze still locked with mine. 

"Good night," I whisper helplessly. 

He gives me one last heated look  that makes my blood boil and then he swirls around, almost running towards the door. 

How he manages to close the door quietly will forever be a mystery to me but he does; the soft click still echoes loudly in the empty flat. 

My legs give out and I sink gracelessly to the floor, staring into space for a long while. 

The flicker of light out of the corner of my eye makes me turn my head. Hazily I look at it for a moment until it registers in my dazed brain that it's coming from his flat. 

He's switching the lights on and off a few times before it stays off. 

I don't know what that was for nor what he's doing right now - although I have a pretty good idea of it - but knowing he's only a stone's throw away makes my heart beat faster again. 

Scrambling to my feet I stumble to the light switch, mirroring the on-off-on flickering, leaving it off after a few times. 

The television is still on and I walk over to switch it off before I somehow make it into the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed with a dreamlike smile on my burning lips. 

"Good night Benedict," I whisper into the dark room as I crawl under the duvet, almost immediately drifting into sleep. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be the sexy times...

I oversleep the next morning. Cursing, I hurry to get ready and almost fall over the small flowerpot sitting outside my door. In it, a single white camellia, and a note, carefully tucked between the leaves. 

My hands are shaking as I stumble back into the flat to put the plant down and unfold the note. Squinting at the scribbles I read: 

' _Good morning. I have to apologize for my behaviour last night and would like to invite you to dinner. I know a nice little restaurant not far from here. They even serve hot food. Friday night? B._ ' 

A warm fire blooms in my stomach as I reread those few words over and over again. 

So he meant it. The taking it slowly. For some strange reason that makes me smile as I look around for a piece of paper and a pen - only fair to answer the same way he asked. 

While I write me reply, a million thoughts jumble through my head. 

Friday is only three days away. What will he do till then? What will _I_ do? Will we pretend last night didn't happen? 

Before I can ponder myself into a frenzy, I have written my answer and fold the paper in half. 

No plants for him but I'll drop it into his mailbox so he'll get it. Grabbing my keys I race down the stairs and over to his door. His flat is dark and I carefully lift the lid of his mailbox, holding onto the note one more second. 

Is this the right thing to do? He's a famous actor and I'm just me. 

But then again, _he_ asked me, even after the disaster of our first meeting. 

Letting go of the paper I hear it drop quietly to the bottom. 

"Here goes nothing," I murmur to myself, casting one last look at the dark windows before I hurry off to work. 

I'm smiling all day, even after the stern looks my bosses give me as I come into work over an hour late. I can't help it. Neither can I help the butterflies in my stomach or the fluttering of my heart whenever I think about him. I can still feel his firm body against my fingertips, taste him on my lips and his scent is surrounding me all day.

Willing the hands on the clock to move, I can't wait to return home. 

Tonight I will have tea on my terrace, no matter how hard it rains - which it does quite heavily right now. And I have the feeling he'll be there too.

Finally it's time to leave and I rush out and towards the tube, cursing the slowly walking people on the pavement. 

It doesn't take any longer than normal but feels like ages until I unlock the door to my flat, breathing hard after the run up the stairs. 

My step is inevitably drawn to the windows. 

And my heart drops into my stomach. 

His flat is dark, the windows tightly shut and there's no sign that anyone is home. 

"Shit, bugger, fuck," I curse loudly into the empty sitting room, leaning my head against the windowpane, disappointment washing over me like the rain outside. 

I'm cold, dripping all over the floor and I can feel hot tears prickle behind my lids. 

Guess I have to wait then. 

Pulling myself together, I sigh and walk into the kitchen to check what I have in for dinner. 

Nothing it seems as the fridge is quite empty, only a sole lemon rolling around the shelf.

"Shopping it is then." 

I'm wet already so I don't bother with an umbrella as I leave the flat again and walk to the little shop a few streets down. The rain has subsided a little which I'm grateful for. 

Making a list in my head with the things I need, I don't pay attention where I walk until I bump into a broad chest, making its owner jump backwards. 

"Shit, sorry," I mumble absently, wanting to walk around the man. 

"Nothing to be sorry about." 

My head instantly jerks up and I can only just bite back another string of curses wanting to spill. 

Benedict grins down at me, bronze hair plastered to his head, his clothes soaked, his glasses misted with rain. 

"Hey," he says softly, pushing the specs up his nose. 

"Hey," I reply hazily. 

"Where’re you off to?" he asks, blinking another dribble of rain out of his eyes. 

"Shopping." 

"Just coming from there." 

"That's why you weren't home," I blurt out, instantly biting my lip, hiding my flushed face behind my hair. 

"Missed me, huh?" 

Despite the cheeky words, his tone is gentle and low, understanding even. 

There's a pause before he clears his throat.

"I missed you too," he whispers, "you're working far too many hours..." 

Glancing up, certain I must have misheard that, his gaze instantly locks with mine, draws me in and even if I wanted, I can't look away - I'm drowning in the sea of blue and green and gold of his eyes. 

We're standing in the middle of the pavement, staring at each other with wide eyes, and as he takes a hesitant step closer, I can feel the warmth his body is radiating even in the cold. 

"Did you get my present?" he asks softly, ducking his head to maintain eye contact. His glasses slide down his nose a little and he absently pushes them back up, never moving his gaze away. 

I nod slowly. 

"I left an answer in your mailbox," I murmur, feeling every beat of my heart in my fingertips. 

"Oh, I haven't checked there yet. Care to tell me what your answer is?" 

He bats his eyelashes at me; he looks very young and absolutely adorable like this.

And that innocent motion, that small little thing makes me forget my shyness and awkwardness around him. 

I step closer to him, my chest almost touching his, and I notice with delight that he's holding his breath. 

"Yes," I whisper, "the answer is yes." 

The huffed noise coming from him sounds like a broken moan and it sets free a tiny fire in my stomach. 

He swallows hard and leans back, nodding solemnly. 

"I'll pick you up at 8," he says hoarsely. 

His nearness is dizzying, I can see the freckles on his forehead very clearly, can feel his breath ghosting over my face, little puffed clouds in the cold air. 

All my senses are oddly numb and yet heightened at the same time. 

It's still raining and it must still be cold but I don't feel it. All I can feel is him, radiating warmth like an oven into the space between us, making me want to reach out and touch him. 

"I should let you get to your shopping then," he mumbles. 

"Shopping, yes," I echo, not making a move. His entire presence keeps me exactly where I am and I know I can happily watch him look at me like this for the rest of my life. 

A car passes by, through a deep puddle, splashing water all over us and it tears us out of our daze. 

"I see you later?" he asks, taking a step back, inhaling harshly. 

"I reckon you will." 

He nods and without another word walks past me, his free hand fleetingly brushing over my arm as he vanishes behind me.

It takes a lot of self control to not turn around. Instead I take a deep breath and continue my way towards the shop to get my fridge stocked up again. 

 *

The next three days are torture. The waiting is driving me crazy. Thankfully work keeps me busy and only in the evening do I have time to freak out over what to wear, what to do with my hair, what to talk about with him. 

I don't even try to venture into the 'what happens after dinner' territory - my mind always goes either completely blank or into total overdrive. 

It's raining all day now, autumn has the country in its cold windy grip and yet I always spend a few minutes out in the drizzly evening, huddled against the wall, trying to stay out of the pouring rain. 

He's doing the same, standing in his open balcony door, more inside than out, a cup in his hands. 

I tell myself he's smiling whenever I step out into the dark, lifting a hand to wave at him. Of course I don't know for sure, it's too dark to see more than his hunched shoulders against the light in his flat but it helps me to stay sane until it's finally Friday. 

 *

When the doorbell rings, I'm so nervous I jump a little. Casting a last glance in the mirror I take a deep breath and open the door. 

Benedict looks up from fiddling with his cuffs, and his eyes widen almost comically as he sees me. 

I run a shaking hand over my dress, his thorough look making me even more nervous. 

"Not good?" I ask anxiously to break the silence as he doesn't say a word.

Before I can worry about my choice of wardrobe any longer, he's crowding me against the wall, his hands closing almost painfully around my waist. He makes a low growling noise, coming deep from his throat and then he kisses me hard. 

I moan against his burning lips, my hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt, forgetting all the good intentions I've made at the feeling of his seeking tongue sliding between my lips. 

He kisses like he's starving, nothing like our first kiss. This is uncontrolled and needy, hungry and passionate and I melt against him, the wall and his hands the only things keeping me upright. 

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore," he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, his nose rubbing against mine. 

"Or rather for something else entirely," he adds, pressing his lean body shamelessly against me. 

"I've been dreaming about you for the past three days," he whispers, leaning forward to speak into my ear, his tongue flicking over the shell. 

I shudder heavily in his arms and he groans louder. 

"I told myself, 'Benedict, you take her for dinner and be all gentlemanly, and then you take her home and leave at the door, perhaps a kiss goodnight, nothing else'," he purrs against my neck, placing soft kisses along my throat, making me whine. 

"But then you have to go and look all delicious and sexy in that dress and all my intentions have gone out the window." 

This is muttered against my shoulder, his long fingers pushing the fabric aside so he can kiss the skin underneath. 

"And now I'm having a really hard time concentrating on anything but the fact that I'd love to rip that dress off of your body." 

To prove that point, he tilts his hips, grinding his hardness against my thigh, making us both moan. 

I'm dizzy with desire: his lowly murmured words wiped every rational thought from my mind and went straight between my legs. 

My fingers are clinging to the soft fabric of his crisp white shirt under the grey suit jacket and I'm panting against his mouth as he kisses me again with a fierceness that leaves absolutely not doubts about what he wants right now. 

And it's not dinner. 

"Did...didn't you want to... take it slowly," I ask, whimpering loudly as he slides one hand from my waist down my side. 

"Do you _want_ to take it slowly?" he breathes against my neck, biting gently at that sensitive spot below my ear. 

Words fail me as his mouth covers mine again but I'm able to shake my head. 

Growling he deepens the kiss, ravishing my mouth, leaving us both gasping for air as he pulls away again, searching my face. 

Stormy, cobalt blue eyes meet mine, clear and bright and wanting. 

"Then let's not do that," he mutters, the hand on my leg slowly crawling under the hem of my dress. 

A thought shoots through my head, and I lay a shaky hand on his arm. 

"What is it?" he asks quietly, stopping immediately. 

My face feels as if it's burning but since I live alone and don't have a boyfriend, I'm not prepared for this sort of thing. 

"I...uh...do you have something?" I stammer hesitantly. 

His brows draw together in confusion before he understands and the most beautiful smile blooms on his gorgeous face. 

At the same time his cheeks flush and he bites his reddened lips, chuckling somewhat embarrassedly. 

"Actually, I have, yes. I just wanted to be prepared for any possibility..." he explains with a slightly defensive tone in his voice. 

"Naughty boy," I tease, relief washing over me, and I pull him closer again, sliding my hands under his jacket, gently pushing it from his shoulders. 

He reacts instinctively by pressing me against the wall again, kissing me wildly, his hands fumbling with the zip of my dress. 

"God, you drive me crazy," he murmurs, desperately trying to push my dress down while not moving one inch away from me. 

I press my face against his shoulder, moaning loudly at the longing tone in his dark voice. 

"Wait," I pant and push away from the wall, forcing him to stumble back so I can actually move. 

"Let me just..." I say, kicking off my shoes and shoving down the stockings I put on against the cold outside.

His wide eyes follow my every move, are glued to my fingers as I get rid of the unnecessary fabric. As soon as I am done, he reaches out with trembling hands and it only takes two gentle pushs and my dress is around my ankles, leaving me only in my underwear. 

"Christ, you're fucking beautiful," he breathes, looking at me with an expression on his face that I have never seen before. 

His hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, his eyes never leaving my face, his entire body buzzing with need.

"Let me," I murmur, reaching out and slip the buttons through their holes. I take my time; now that I know he wants me just as much as I want him, I don't want to hurry, I  want to draw out every moment as long as possible. 

His hands fall to his sides, small noises tumbling from his lips as my fingertips graze over revealed skin. Finally the shirt falls open and I drink in every inch of toned muscles under pale skin. 

There's not one gram fat, he's all elegant lines and hidden strength. Trailing a finger slowly over his chest and his stomach, I revel in the warm smoothness of his body. 

His head falls back and I can sense that it costs him all his self control to let me explore. But soon his head snaps back up, his eyes burning fiercely into mine. 

"Bedroom?" he asks roughly, his voice rumbling like distant thunder in my ears. 

Wordlessly I take his hands and he instantly entwines our fingers, squeezing gently as he follows me towards my bedroom. 

It's dark in there and I don't really want to switch on the lights. He tilts his head as he sees me hesitatingly standing in the doorway, hand half way towards the light switch. 

"Don't. Wait...," he says and lets go of my hand, "don't move." 

He disappears into the hallway again and before I can wonder where he's off to, he returns, carrying the two big candles I usually have on my coffee table. 

Producing a lighter he lights them and sets one on each bedside table. 

Smiling contently, he looks at me, holding out his hand. 

"Better?" 

Nodding, I walk over to him, laying my hand in his and he pulls me against his chest to kiss me again. Deep and slow, taking his time in exploring my mouth while his hands are creeping towards the clasp of my bra. 

I'm not idle and slip my hands between our bodies, opening his trousers, pushing them down as much as I can without breaking the kiss. 

Everything feels dreamlike: his hard body against mine, his large hands on my back, his heated skin, setting my own on fire. 

He wriggles his hips to get rid of his trousers and the motion causes him to rub his erection against my naked flesh. 

We moan into each others‘ mouths, the passion between us overwhelming in its intensity. 

Kicking off his shoes, he gently pulls me along until we both tumble onto the bed, giddy with arousal, hands everywhere to get rid of every last bit of clothing. 

He's half on top of me, peppering kisses all over my face, his fingers tangled in my hair, his heart beating wildly; I can feel it against my chest and on the tip of his tongue. 

Every part of me is yearning for him, aching in a way I've never felt before. I want to feel him everywhere and never want to let go again, I want to curl around him, just hear him breathe when he sleeps, want to protect him from the craziness that is the world outside our safe little flats.

He notices my sudden distraction and pulls back.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks softly even though he's gasping for air, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. 

"Yeah, sorry." 

Pushing those thoughts aside, I slide my hands into his hair and pull him down, kissing him again. 

He groans, his hips thrusting shallowly against the mattress. 

"You said you have..." I whisper, pressing my groin against his thigh. 

"Yes, one second." 

He rolls off me, fishing his discarded trousers from the floor, rummaging through the pockets. Pulling out a condom he slides back on the bed, kneeling before me as he opens it. 

My breath catches at the sight. 

The candlelight casts hazy shadows over his naked body, making his skin glow golden and enhances the sharp angles of his face - just as I imagined it would. 

Only that it's much more enthralling than I could ever imagine. 

The muscles in his arms flex smoothly as he rolls on the condom, hissing at his own touch, his lids fluttering, his breath stuttering. 

Every motion is elegant and controlled even though his hands are shaking. His back is straight, his flat stomach even flatter in the darkness, and I get lost following the lines of the veins on his arms, standing out so visibly against his light skin. 

"Like what you see?" he murmurs as he catches my gaze, and I grin sheepishly, nodding as he lowers himself onto me again. 

"So do I," he whispers, teasing my legs apart with his knees, making us both gasp as his hardness presses against me. 

"Christ, you're gorgeous," he mutters as he slips one hand between us, guiding himself into my welcoming wetness. 

Somewhere along the way, the burning passion has transformed into something gentler, more tender, yet still urgent and so very needed. 

He carefully pushes inside me, filling me with his hot thickness, and I moan unabashedly, my fingers digging deep into his shoulders.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, pushing up on his elbows to look at me. 

Wrapping my legs around his calves, I arch into him, feeling his throbbing desire, and it's driving me out of my mind. 

"Move, please move," I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. 

He obliges; tiny little circles with his hips, teasing me. He chuckles lowly as I whine again, the vibrations shooting along my nerves like fire, intensifying every bit of contact. 

Frustrated, I rake my nails down his back, making him curse roughly and thrust harder into me. 

"Yes," I murmur, clenching around him and he whimpers loudly. 

His eyes narrow and then his hands roam around until they find mine, entwining our fingers tightly and pulling my arms over my head, pinning them in place with his weight. 

Staring down at me he finally starts moving properly, languid and deep even though he's panting heavily by now, beads of sweat forming on his face. 

His entire body is tense as a bow, I feel it from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, pressing against my shins. He's biting his lip all the while his dark eyes bore into mine, drinking in every little gasp, every moan I make.

Thrusting harder he tries to kiss me again but we're both too far gone for that, merely breathing each other in, whispering endearments and encouragements against wet lips, fuelling the fire racing through our veins. 

His arms start shaking, the tendons standing out like chords. Flexing my fingers, I try to move my arms and he lets go of my hands. He lowers himself fully onto me, his hands crawling under my head, pressing my face against his neck. I slide my arms around his shoulders, my fingers itching with the need to bury themselves in those luxurious curls, golden sparks dancing over them in the low light. 

Giving in, I slip my hands into his hair, moaning unabashedly at the feeling: warm, silky, alive. 

He growls, his teeth sinking into the skin above my collarbone, biting carefully and as I instinctively arch into him, he starts sucking at the flesh. I can feel the blood rise to the surface and I know I will wear that mark proudly, it will always remind me of this very moment. 

"Mine," he rasps, his voice so deep, it's more a feeling than a sound and his hands tighten around the back of my head. 

The long, languid thrusts turn fierce, more desperate now and every impact shoots a jolt of pleasure down my spine, the tingling wave all too familiar.

"Yours," I sigh, feeling the rush of my orgasm wash over me and giving myself over to him. He's holding me tightly, his hips moving on their own accord, sharp and urgent, pushing into me with a fervent hunger, unravelling me completely.

I cry out as he pumps his hips once more and then stills, pressing so hard against me, that I can't breathe for a second. A bone crushing shudder wrecks his body, a string of incoherent noises falling from his swollen lips and he collapses on top of me, shaking heavily, his breath coming in hot puffs against my neck. 

My own orgasm is still surging through me, and I helplessly cling to him, shuddering in the aftermath, heat coursing through my body.

After a few moments he rolls off me, flopping onto his back next to me, his chest heaving, sweat shimmering like diamonds in that hollow spot below his throat. 

Still in a daze I lean over and lick at it, tasting earthy bitterness - pure Benedict - and moan happily.

His arms and his chest are covered in goosebumps and as I blink up at him, the smile on his lips makes my heart stutter in its simple beauty. 

"Hi," he whispers, tangling a large hand in my hair and pulling me into a gentle kiss, sweet and breathtakingly soft. 

When he lets go, I curl up against his pliant limbs, my head resting just above his hammering heart. 

He hums happily, carding his fingers through my hair while I listen to his heartbeat slowing down to normal. 

We lie there in silence, wrapped in warmth and golden light; I can hear rain splatter against the window, can hear something rattle in the wind. 

"Sounds like it was a good choice to stay in tonight," he rumbles lowly, making me giggle. 

"Geez," he mutters, kissing the top of my head, "you've got an adorable laugh." 

Of course that makes me chuckle even more and soon we're both laughing, mine high and breathless, his deep and soothing. 

And in that moment I realize with slight shock, that I'm hopelessly falling in love with him. 

I tense which he immediately notices. 

"Hey, everything alright?" 

I nod, hiding my burning face against his salty neck, trying to push that discovery to the back of my mind. 

Tonight doesn't really mean anything. Not yet. 

He seems interested, even made an attempt to take it slow but I'm not sure how things will progress now. 

"You hungry?" he asks, unaware of my inner turmoil, sitting up and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. 

Before I can answer, my stomach decides it's the perfect moment to declare that I haven't eaten all day. 

He laughs softly and leans down to place a kiss on my belly. 

"Better feed you then," he mutters, sliding out of bed. 

"Bathroom?" he asks. 

I point towards the door and with a quirk of his lips he says: 

"Be right back." 

I watch him walk over, in all his glorious nakedness, not the slightest bothered about it, and vanish inside. 

Also getting out of bed, I don't really know what to do with myself. 

Do I get dressed again? Stay in bed, waiting for him? 

I feel a bit uncomfortable, standing there all naked so I grab the first thing I can find, which is an old t-shirt and I slip into it. 

A bit more confident, I start collecting our clothes, and put them on the bed. 

His shirt is rumpled and I try to smooth out the biggest of the creases. The faint scent of his aftershave wafts from it and without thinking I bury my face in it, inhaling deeply. 

"Hm, do I have to worry that you're selling that on eBay?" he teases, making me jump. He leans against the door-frame, watching me amused, his eyes twinkling cheekily. 

"God no," I say shocked but before I can say anything else, he's by my side, taking my face in his hands. 

"Stop that right now," he demands, kissing me roughly, "whatever you're thinking, stop it. I won't disappear. I want you, with all your little quirks, period. I trust you, you hear me?" 

I nod hazily, staring up into his stern face. 

He shakes his head and kisses me again, gently this time, taking his time. 

"Stop worrying. You're a wonderful person, a lovely woman and who cares that you're a fan. You know my address, for Christ's sake. As far as I know you're still the only one. I haven't had any fans bashing at my door in the middle of the night. So everything's okay, okay?" 

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat and nod again. 

"Okay." 

He grins, brushing a peck on the tip of my nose. 

"Dinner? I'm starving." 

Wandering over to the bed, he slips on his pants and gently plucks his shirt from my numb hands, slipping in it.

Rolling up the sleeves, he smiles at me and then holds out his hand.

"Shall we see if your fridge contains anything we can make dinner with?"

 

 


End file.
